life, death, love and other forms of poetry by alcoholic poet

The road stutters beneath her feet. The dashboard. grunts. A choking vein drowning in its own blood. A dead whore in the arms of her last lover.

Worth nothing now. Or everything.

The guile of perspective fuels the machine. Telling stories to flooding tears. Straw houses deceive their pigs. As the wolf huffs. An end of sorts. If an end is what you seek.

She drives through the summer. Carelessly navigating the desert's empty charms. Lashed to the heat at every limb. Travelling through the infinite sand one grain at a time. Heavy numbers. Chasing her. While she attempts to subtract. All those needless confessions. Of tongue and gut and rotting skin. Left out too long to still be nourishment.

No blankets on the bed. Soiled pillows and empty nightstands. Marking a story not yet told. Blotting the semen from the carpet. Cleaning the condoms from the wastebasket.

An empty hand. A devil in an angel's garb. a room full of deaf poets. and blind artists. Auctioning off their grief. Fighting over the last bits of crayon

The outlines the same. The pictures unchanged. By the colors they flaunt. That are no longer theirs to give.